


Heart Monitor Hedonism

by 1031198



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Abusive Relationship, Bipolar Ian Gallagher, Crying, Cutting, Dom/sub, Fat-shaming, Heavy Angst, Hospitalization, Humiliation, Knives, M/M, Manic Episode, Paranoia, Rape, Sad, Toxic Relationship, all angst, domestic abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:07:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23473705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1031198/pseuds/1031198
Summary: Mickey finds that his and Ian's relationship is turning into something that can only be defined by one word: merciless.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 10
Kudos: 46





	Heart Monitor Hedonism

**Author's Note:**

> Oops. I did it again. This has every trigger under the sun so make sure you read the warnings and tags. Also, this is immensely sad so if you don't want to read something sad then this is not the right choice. Lastly, I give a large amount of credit to my editor, QueerQuaking.

It began slowly, soon after their marriage, that things started to go downhill. The medications prescribed to Ian to control his bipolar were so on and off that they almost caused him more mood swings than the actual mental disorder did. It wasn’t long after their honeymoon that the first instance of supposed abuse occurred. It was a hot day outside and Ian unfortunately got called into work in the early hours of the morning. When he finally arrived home, it was late, and he was tired and stressed from his long day at the fire department. What set him off to begin with was the fact that Mickey wasn’t there, but instead was hanging out with Lip in the Gallagher’s pool. After finding that out, Ian dragged his husband, who was only wearing a pair of swimming shorts and was shivering, into their shared apartment and shoved him harshly onto the floor of the kitchen. “Ian, what the fuck?” Mickey gasped breathlessly as the air was knocked out of him.

Without answering, Ian grabbed the smaller male by the collar and punched him in the face. His vision was fuzzy for a second, but when he came to he saw Ian’s worried face staring back down at him. “Mick. Fuck, Mick, I’m so sorry.” 

Without hesitation, Ian picked the now bloody Mickey up and carried him into the bathroom. If it was years ago Mickey would’ve been quick to punch the redhead back but after years of being around Ian he had become so soft. He wouldn’t even think of doing something like that now. When it came to his husband he was completely submissive. He would do anything that he was asked to do, and would do it without a fight. So, when he was properly seated on the toilet seat of the cramped bathroom and told to take his shirt off, he did. There might have been blood on it but he still didn’t think it was necessary to remove it entirely; nevertheless, he did it without complaint. Once his face was cleaned off and the blood stopped running from his nose, Ian brought him a pair of sweatpants and watched as the black haired male slid them up his legs. Only after being led to bed did Mickey let tears stream down his pale cheeks.

After the first incident others followed. They started off as just a punch or slap but progressed more into a vile mix of physical and verbal violences. Currently, about three months after the first incident, Mickey was making himself breakfast. Ian was still asleep; this rare, peaceful time was quickly becoming a pleasure. He had made bacon, eggs, and toast, and was halfway through his plate when his husband sauntered down the stairs. He first got a cup of coffee before walking over to Mickey. Upon seeing the food arranged on the black haired male’s plate he said, “Really Mick? Do you really need that much food? You’re just asking to become fat aren’t you-” He stopped himself for a second to look Mickey’s body up and down in disgust before continuing. “Actually, you’re pretty big already. Have you always been this fat?” 

The words were, by all standards, cruel. So cruel, in fact, that Mickey couldn’t help but get up and run back up to their bedroom. “Fuck, I’m sorry Mick, I didn’t mean it that way-” The smaller male heard as he ran up the stairs. 

Tears were dripping down his cheeks the second he hit the bathroom floor. He knew in that moment that he didn’t love Ian the same way anymore. He also knew exactly what kind of bad situation he was in. Something he didn’t know, however, was how to fix it. He thought about talking to someone but was too afraid to be seen as someone who was weak and couldn’t protect themself. He sat there for a good thirty minutes until he finally stood up. He couldn’t help but to stare at himself in the mirror. The only words that he could think of were the mean ones that he just heard the person he was supposed to trust most in the world say. He lifted up his top to stare at his body. ‘I have gotten fat.’ He thought to himself, the tears threatening to spill once more. 

Of course after getting married and going through all of the affairs of falling in love he was susceptible to put on a little bit of weight, but what he saw in the mirror looked like a LOT of extra weight. The sight made him feel more depressed and also kind of hungry. He supposed that he had been using eating as an unhealthy coping mechanism. He was about to inspect more of his body when he heard the door open. He looked up to see Ian’s big, green eyes staring at him. “I’m sorry Mick. I really didn’t mean it.” 

He sounded sincere but Mickey wouldn’t allow himself to believe that he was. “Shouldn’t you be at work?” He asked quietly. 

“Yeah, but you’re more important.” Ian replied, reaching over to the smaller male’s face and lifting his chin up so that their eyes could meet.

Mickey’s face glowed red as he tried to look away. Just having his husband looking at him made him feel insecure. “Look at me.” 

The tone used was more harsh than it should have been. It left Mickey feeling sensitive and raw almost. He had to comply though, not knowing what to do otherwise. That wasn’t the end though, Ian wanted more of the power that Mickey supplied him with. He felt the rush of mania ignite through his bones, demanding him to exercise his control over the submissive being. It only took a second for Mickey to be shoved onto the bed and handcuffed to the bed frame. He struggled against the restraints, feeling completely helpless and scared for the first time. He made eye contact with Ian, silently begging for him to stop. The look in his eyes however, was distant and cold--a look that Mikey had never seen before. It didn’t matter because the second the smaller male’s eyes detected the shiny metal of a knife, fear was the only emotion clouding his mind. “Relax. I’m not going to hurt you. Unless you make me.” Came Ian’s low voice. 

Mickey swallowed hard, while telling himself to calm down. It even continued when the knife was used to strip the thin clothing off of his body. Ian smiled at the sight. Soft, milky white thighs that had somehow gotten immensely thick since the last time he saw them. Bright pink stretch marks lined them which, for some reason unknown, caused Ian to begin to get an erection. “Tsk, what do we have here.” 

Mickey writhed a bit, his body not used to physical contact. They hadn’t even had sex since the honeymoon, and although he was sure that the redhead had sex while on a mania indused sex bender, he had not. Following suit, he felt absolutely humiliated when he found himself growing hard with only fingers scraping along his thighs and Ian’s intense gaze.

None of that night really mattered to Mickey. It may have been bad for self esteem, but in the long run it didn’t cause any lasting damage. He had just been thrown around a bit and told to give Ian a blow job. In turn, Ian gave him a very fast and bad quality hand job. The significance of the night however, was the fact that it marked the beginning of more non-consensual sex. Not just regular sex, though. Kinky, powerplay-type sex. Sex that would leave Mickey feeling worthless and suicidal. Sex that would cause the smaller male to not be able to sit comfortably for weeks at a time. As this continued, so did everything else. The verbal abuse and physical abuse were only getting worse. 

It wasn’t until a couple more months later that something major happened. It was after the Christmas party, and Ian was already quite wasted. Things were surprisingly going better than Mickey initially expected. He was able to hide the emotional and physical pain well enough, and the Gallagher family was too busy trying to make sure everything went smoothly to pay much attention to the black haired male. The event that began what would come to be known as one of the worst nights of his life, however, was when Lip invited Mickey up to his room for a marijuana break. He tried to make up an excuse for the offer, knowing what the outcome of Ian finding out would be; in the end, though, he gave in. He was only upstairs for five minutes when the aforementioned redhead found him. The rage in his green eyes was enough to make him want to jump out of the window, despite the broken bones that would positively follow. He didn’t quite have enough time, though, because Ian was dragging him from the room before he could blink, yelling excuses and half-hearted goodbyes at the rest of his family. 

Even though the air outside was bitterly cold and Ian was visibly intoxicated, he was still able to get Mickey through the entrance of their apartment. The smaller male wasn’t even able to take his coat off before being pushed onto the couch. “I always knew you and him were a thing. I always knew you were the little slut you are.” Ian spat out, eyes clouded with a thick fog of mania-induced delusion.

“Ian, we aren’t a th-” 

The black haired male wasn’t able to defend himself at all against the punch that was forced onto his face without warning. It stung and caused his nose to throb. Blood became a crimson curtain closing against the soft skin covering his face, leaving a dark sense of replayed betrayal in its wake. Desperate tears mixed with the blood, salt in the wound. That, however, became the least of his worries when a knife seemingly materialized into his so-called lover’s hand. “Please don’t do this E.”

“I have to do this. You obviously won’t listen unless you get punished first.”

Without another word, the clothes were roughly removed from Mickey’s body, all graceless, aggressive tugging and tearing. He tried to plead to his husband with his eyes but knew deep down that the illusions of mania, alcohol, and whatever other drugs he had consumed at the party were controlling him. He started with the thighs. It wasn’t just one cut though, it was words. The word “fatass” was the first to be carved. Mickey screamed as if he was being murdered, his muscles tensing and his back arching against the pain as the searing fire of the knife slashed through pasty flesh. The stinging sensation was almost enough to send him into the abyss of unconsciousness. Ian made sure to be slow as Mickey’s eyes began to roll back and his muscles started to relax, thinking that the punishment would be more worth it if his partner was alert to learn from his mistake. The second word was “slut” which was carved into the pale expanse of his stomach. The redhead’s eyes widened in sadistic fascination as the blood dripped from the cuts. Knowing that the smaller male would most likely pass out soon from blood loss, he decided to speed things up. To finish the with a personal mark, he latched onto the pale skin of his husband’s neck and sucked a dark hickey into it, teeth scraping. Lastly, because he was feeling a little pent up, he aligned his dick with Mickey’s hole and pushed in dry. While it did hurt him a little bit, it was worth it if only to see the look in his partner’s clouded, distant eyes. That was the last straw for the older male, finally allowing his vision to go black and his body to succumb to the serenity of oblivion. He’s still breathing. Ian thought to himself after quickly feeling for the slow pulse in his carotid artery, continuing to roughly push into his pliant body until he finished with an unsatisfied sound.

The next day, Mickey awoke in a daze. There was a blinding white light in his eyes, causing him to feel confused and scared. Am I dead? He considered internally.

That possibility was thrown out the window when he saw the worried face of Lip hovering above him. “He’s awake.” Came a lispy voice.

Another figure appeared beside Lip. They were smaller so he assumed it was a girl. He tried to make out the face of the person, but all he saw was a blurry mess of color. He felt as if a cloud had moved into his mind, resulting in a dense fog. After a minute of time elapsed, he began to feel slightly more clear. The only thing on his mind, however, was the pain. Throbbing, burning pain ran up his legs and all the way up to his lower stomach. Tears came like a waterfall, causing his bright blue eyes to look even more shiny and even more blue. He tried to say something, but an oxygen mask was blocking his mouth and forcing air into his lungs. Apparently something had been wrong because a doctor suddenly appeared. He was taking notes with a clipboard and then moved over to remove the thin blanket that covered his lower half. Intrusive, heart-breaking memories flooded through Mickey’s brain. He began to hyperventilate into the oxygen mask, eyes darting from wall to wall and body beginning to thrash against the I.V. in his arm and blood pressure monitor on his finger. Everything hurt so bad, but that didn’t stop him from trying to get out of the hospital bed, ripping the I.V. from the crook at his inner arm. He was pushed back down in a cooperative movement by the doctor and Lip, and within a short, unknown time frame he was sedated again, unwillingly submitting to restless sleep.

The two visitors looked at each other. “What do you think happened?” Lip asked, looking towards the girl, Mandy, for an answer.

“I’m not sure, but think I may know who did this.”

“Yeah? Who?” Lip asked. His voice sounded skeptical, but he trusted her enough to not think she was lying. 

“I know you’re not going to like this, but I think that Ian did this.”

“Ian? Why the fuck would he do this? He obviously loves Mickey.” He tried to sound sure of himself, but it didn’t really come out the way he wanted it to. 

“You don’t think he’s been acting a bit off lately? He’s seemed more distant. The way he gets when he stops taking his medication.”

“Yeah, I guess he has seemed distant. Plus, it does kinda seem like him to stop taking his medication if he’s not being forced to…”

“That and there is almost clear evidence that it was him.” Mandy said, at last saying something that was at least slightly mind-opening to Lip.

“Really? What evidence?” He sounded genuinely curious, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to know if this truly was Ian’s doing.

“The words. Who else would carve ‘fatass’ and ‘slut’ into a member of the scariest family in the Southside?” She sounded so sure of herself, and she did make a valid point. 

Lip paced around the small hospital room in deep thought before saying, “Only someone who wasn’t scared of him or what his brothers could do. Friends or family.”

“Exactly. Ian has the issues that could cause him to do this. Maybe he lost his temper or got paranoid or something again. I mean, he has seemed more controlling when around Mickey recently.

“Yeah. Now that I think of it, do you remember at the Thanksgiving party when Mickey was in the living room eating and Ian walked over and whispered something in his ear? And how red Mickey’s face got?”

“Yeah, I guess I do remember that.” 

“Also, I invited him up to my room to smoke with me during the Christmas party yesterday and Ian bursted in and forced him to leave. He seemed angry, or paranoid that we were doing something together. He wasn’t really acting like himself.” 

“See, he seems like the most likely person to do something like this.” Mandy concluded.

Lip shook his head before replying, “That’s enough thinking about that for now, you wanna go have a smoke with me outside?” Mandy nodded her head wordlessly and followed Lip out of the room. 

Upon arriving back inside they noticed that Mickey was awake again. Yet, this time he wasn’t trying to pull the wires connected to his body off and escape. His eyes were half-lidded and unfocused, blearily pointed towards the ceiling. “Hey.” Mandy said gently, taking his hand in her own.

He glanced in her direction, but his face didn’t betray any sign of actually seeing her. They must have given him some strong stuff when sedating him the last time. Before they could spend any more time visiting with him there was a soft knock on the door. “Come in.” Mandy and Lip said in unison.

“Sorry, but visiting hours have ended.” The nurse announced.

Time apparently wasn’t on their side today--Mickey had just woken up calmly for the first time and now this lady had to come in and tell them that they have to leave. “Do you want someone to stay with you?” Lip asked.

Mickey shook his head no. It was hard for Lip or Mandy to feel hurt about him not wanting someone to stay, since knowing Mickey, he was likely humiliated to know someone saw and heard of what happened to him. With that, they both mumbled their goodbyes, grabbed their things, and headed home.

Mickey was alone now. The feeling was both calming and terrifying. He was left alone with so many pressing questions about what had happened. How did he get to the hospital? Who discovered him passed out and covered in blood on the floor of his and Ian’s apartment? Did anyone know that Ian did this? What if Ian was discovered and put in jail?

He really didn’t want the last inquiry to be true; he didn’t know if he could survive without his husband, as he had become so dependent on him. He would always help him with simple tasks, such as if he was doing something correctly or not, or if his outfit looked okay that day. Sometimes the answer would be nice, boosting his self-esteem, but other times it would be devastatingly mean, something to send his self-esteem plunging lower. Recently, the latter task seemed almost impossible to do, as his self-esteem had fallen so low within the past few months. Without knowing it, he had been molded into a mindless servant with no personality that would do whatever his husband told him. By any standards, it wasn't exactly a good situation. 

Regardless of the high doses of morphine being pumped into his blood, he could feel the pain seeping into his body again. It almost felt good, grounding in a way. He tried to stop his hand from moving over to the panel that controlled the dosage, but he couldn’t. He had been to the hospital too many times over the course of their marriage. The other times, however, Ian had brought him there before someone could discover him like they had to have this time. Ian always fabricated the most elaborate stories. He even went so far one time as to say that Mickey was ‘very special needed’ and had grabbed the knife off the counter without knowing what it was. Of course the doctor didn’t dare question any further about the absurd story, since the idea of domestic abuse in a gay couple apparently didn’t exist in the world that everyone else dwelled happily within. 

Currently, with a higher dosage of the mind-numbing liquid pumping into his veins than what was usually present, he was left to try and get some answers. His eyes scanned the room, looking for any of his own personal belongings. Upon a quick scan of the room, he realized that neither his phone nor his clothes was present; this note was agitating to say the least. The oxygen mask was his closest target to release a bit of said agitation, so he reached up and pulled it off with little effort. Without the mask on his face, the sterile oxygen from within the machine was blowing out and mixing with the sterile air of the room. His face itched, and when he placed his hand on the skin he felt a deep welt lining the area where the mask sat. He somehow felt uglier than before. He didn’t even want to know what he looked liked, all bruised and scarred. He decided to not dwell on the thought though, instead electing to focus on the task at hand. His best idea was to find the call button on the wall to get a nurse. Once his hand was about halfway up the plain white wall, he felt a slight pinch, then a warm, wet feeling travelling down his side and to his left hip. His heart almost stopped when he looked down and saw a deep red color staining the white sheet. He did, however, achieve his goal when a doctor and a couple of nurse practitioners came rushing into the room. The heart monitor was beeping rapidly, causing an anxious feeling to come over him. “What’s going on?” Mickey said for the first time, his words slightly slurred together. 

The doctor ignored him, instead pulling the sheet off of his body and demanding one of the nurses, “Grab the scissors.” 

Normally, this type of thing wouldn’t even faze Mickey, but, oddly enough, he had become so sensitive. Everything in his life had seemingly become emotional warfare. Tears slid down his cheeks due to how afraid he was, and it didn’t help that the doctor was ignoring him, solidifying his idea that no one listened to him. He watched as scissors cut the stitches and more blood gushed from the ‘slut’ carving. He laid his head back on the pillow, a tingly feeling running up his body. The doctor spent a good fifteen minutes on the stitches before applying an ointment and placing gauze over them. Mickey looked over at the doctor; he was putting away tools and throwing away the soiled materials. This seemed to be a good time to ask some questions. Clearing his throat a little, he started. “Um, sir?” The doctor glanced at him, nodding to show that he was listening. “How did I get here?”

“You were brought in unconscious and near-dead from blood loss.” The doctor, who was an older man with a certain arrogant presence muttered.

“Did they say if they knew what happened?” Mickey asked, softly.

“Nope. Just said that they went to give you something, a present I think, and found you naked and in a puddle of blood on your living room floor.” The older man said, obviously not interested in the conversation.

Mickey nodded and then couldn’t help but to ask one more question. “Did a tall guy with bright red hair visit while I was unconscious?”

“No. No one of that description visited that I’m aware of. However, you’ll probably be getting discharged in a couple days, so you can see him then.” The doctor replied before gathering his medical equipment and walking out of the room with urgency.

The small male squirmed a little in the narrow bed, feeling more than uncomfortable. He couldn’t believe that he might be getting out of there soon. He wanted to, but also wanted nothing more than to not do with anything. Not deal with anything.

The next couple days were spent making a plan. It was easy to do because the only visitors he got were Lip and Mandy; neither of them really knew what to do while visiting. Mandy made sure to bring him more clothes and snacks, but Lip just stood around, telling the least amusing stories from his day at work. Still, they sometimes managed to make Mickey smile a little, which was something that he rarely did anymore. He knew that it wouldn’t matter though, whether he was happy or not, regardless he was going to make everything right, do a favor for everyone. That thought was the only thing giving him peace.

It happened right after he got discharged. Mandy brought him to her house so she could watch him and make sure he didn’t get hurt. Apparently she wasn’t qualified for her job, in the end. It happened while Mickey was in the bathroom. He was still recovering and couldn’t stand for long periods of time, so did what he had to as quickly as he could. He took his brother’s bottle of heart medication and spilled the entire contents into his hand before shoving them all into his mouth. Tears were cascading down his cheeks, and his eyes were red and puffy. He had thought this through, so he wasn’t scared. He hadn’t seen Ian since the night he had ruined him. He thought that he couldn’t live without him, and that was partially true, only he couldn’t live at all. He sat down on the cold floor and leaned his head on the wall. He felt tired, tired and grounded. Even if it was the pain that caused these feelings, he felt good. In the end, he for once didn’t feel anything. His nerve endings were dull, seemingly as dead as he soon hoped to be.

The only person feeling something in the end was Mandy, as she finally broke into the bathroom and frantically felt his neck for a long-gone pulse. Hopeless desolation was the only feeling remaining in the house.


End file.
